Page 19 of Sunflower Persona
With that sullen thought, I throw myself back into work, pushing my body harder than necessary. It makes it easier to ignore the looming dark cloud when I’m on the brink of exhaustion.
My friends’ worried gazes drill into my back, but I don’t talk to them again. There’s enough work to be done that I can stay busy without looking like a complete asshole for ignoring them. I’m not good company like this. Eventually, they give up and head out, leaving me alone to stew in my self-loathing.
I deserve nothing less.
***
On dead feet, I drag myself up the creaking wooden stairs to my apartment, my aching knee protesting every step. Walking all the way from Cutter’s was likely a mistake, but it’s worth it to avoid paying for a rideshare. I don’t have twenty-three fifty to spare.
Inside is pitch black and as quiet as a grave. Once upon a time, I enjoyed coming back to the silence. This apartment was my sanctuary from the constant bombardment of stimuli that comes with a night at the bar. But over the years, something changed. What was once peaceful has become my hell. Now I hate that there’s nothing for me to come home to.
The gloom thrives in the isolation. It hides in the darkness, waiting to ambush me as soon as I step through the door. Tonight is no exception. My melancholy has already lowered my defenses, making it easy for the gloom-barbed tendrils to embed themselves in my head.
Bone-deep weariness overtakes me. Day after day, I run myself ragged, and all I have to show for it is more goddamn bills. Paper crumples in my hand before I throw the mail onto the growing pile on the counter. I don’t have to see the envelopes to know they’re all reminders of what I owe. As if I wasn’t aware enough as it is. Those are problems for me to deal with tomorrow. The only thing I can do right now is sleep, and if I’m lucky, maybe I won’t wake up.
I stumble through the shadows toward my room, ignoring the rioting pangs of hunger. Making food requires more energy than I have. Rough plaster rubs against my calloused fingers as I search for the light switch. With aclick, the dingy yellow bulb flickers to life overhead. My room isn’t anything special. It’s bare bones, except for the plethora of plants overtaking the shelves near the windows.
They are the only thing that brings me any semblance of joy in this place. It wasn’t my idea to start collecting them. Karis decided she wanted to give plants a try. That experiment lasted approximately ten days before she realized they were more effort than she was willing to give. She brought the first succulent over half dead and told me it was my problem now. I didn’t know anything about keeping plants then, but nursing the poor thingback to health was strangely satisfying. Seeing it get better as the days progressed gave me something to look forward to. One turned into twenty, and before I knew it, I was surrounded by greenery.
Even though I’m exhausted, I grab the mister to tend to my plants. I take my time with them, making sure they each get exactly what they need, even though my body aches and the layers of grime coating me could peel off me like a second skin. For a few blissful moments, I get lost in the routine. Focusing on each of their specific needs provides a brief reprieve from the oppressive cloud.
It doesn’t last. I can only ignore reality for so long.
That pile of mail in the kitchen is a constant reminder of how fucked up my life has gotten. It’s a never-ending cycle. Every time I start to get ahead,somethinghappens that wipes all my progress. The universe must be out to get me. I don’t know what I did in a past life to deserve this, but my entire existence is tainted with a karmic level of misfortune. No one is this unlucky; I must be paying penance for something.
I don’t actually believe that.
But sometimes it helps to pin everything on something out of my control. It’s easier than admitting I fucked everything up on my own.
Chapter 8
Kori
Buildings shouldn’t be intimidating. Stone and steel don’t have the capacity to be anything beyond inanimate materials, and it takes action and intention to create fear. A static structure doesn’t have either of those. It would be like saying a tree is intimidating. Or a boulder. Yet somehow, approaching the tiny warehouse gym feels like walking toward my certain doom.
Okay, so maybe it isn’t the gym itself but the uncertainty that waits for me inside. After my last visit, I looked up what jiu-jitsu actually is, and it seems terrible. I get what Gage meant about not having a personal bubble anymore. From what I gathered, the sport boils down to aggressive floor hugging. I don’t want to aggressively floor hug anyone, let alone sweaty strangers. No, thank you. Not my idea of a good time.
Daisy and I debated for hours if I should even come. There is no doubt in my mind that I’m going to hate it, but I didn’t want to stand Gage up, so here I am, hyping myself up in the parking lot like a fool.
One class, and I never have to do this again. I can do one class.
The bell above the door rings as I step inside, and I’m stunned by a wave of sound punctuated with the high-pitched squeals of children’s laughter. More shocking than that is the deeper, bellowing laughter that comes along with it. The sound isn’t one I’ve ever heard, but I immediately recognize its source.
Gage is laughing…with children?
This I’ve got to see.
A low wall separates the front mat from the doorway, and several parents are gathered around, watching whatever spectacle is happening on the other side. As casually as I can manage, I join them, and the scene taking place on the other side nearly causes my ovaries to explode.
When I heard children, I pictured actual kids, not toddlers, but the tiny people swarming around Gage can’t be more than five. He is on his knees, letting the kids climb all over him like little spider monkeys with an actual smile on his face.
It’s the smile that does me in.
What I thought was a crush before was mere embers compared to the raging inferno that sparks to life in my chest.
“He’s really good with them,” one of the moms tells me, without taking her eyes off the mat—no, him.
Jealousy crackles through me like lightning. I recognize the look on her face because it’s mirrored on mine. She wants him—who wouldn’t after seeing him interact with the kids? Hell, half the parents here have similar looks on their faces.
